


six steps back

by civillove



Series: plans wrapped in rubber bands [21]
Category: Good Girls (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-22
Updated: 2019-06-22
Packaged: 2020-05-16 12:25:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,356
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19318141
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/civillove/pseuds/civillove
Summary: Prompt from sassginamillls: Something happens to Beth doesn't have to be major but lets say Rio and Annie and Ruby are all there at the end and she just rushes into Rio's arms for comfort bc thats all she wants + medievalraven: domestic early morning brio in beth's house plus dean stopping by for whatever reason, then a rio and dean conversation - thanks babe <3--“It was Carlita.” She says after a moment, pain wrapped around her syllables.He pauses but then continues his administrations, “We don’t know that.”She’s pretty sure her jaw falls open onto the sink because what? “Yes we do,”





	six steps back

**Author's Note:**

> AN: Slightly altered prompt 1st prompt, but definitely used it as inspiration. Thank you!

It’s been about two weeks since she’s seen Rio.

It’s not so much on purpose; Beth knows he’s got other clients and dealings to work through that have nothing to do with her or their business. She’s handling the cars; making sure they come in on time, lining up clients and keeping up communications with Veto to confirm twenty cars by the end of this week. Rio’s letting her take lead on a lot and she appreciates the trust he’s putting in her to get shit done while he tends to other things.

But she misses him.

They talk on the phone but it’s short, mostly just checking in. She knows he’s around, has just enough time to spare for Marcus, but she understands that he’s too busy to accommodate their personal…whatever it is they’re doing, while he works. She’s not hurt, they’re both adults and Beth’s got plenty of things to take up her time that’s not drug deals or drops or pickups. She’s still a mother and head of the PTA board…and trying not to kill any of the other women she has to have meetings with is a job within itself.

“So what do you think shady McShady is doing?” Annie asks as Beth parks in front of Boland Motors.

She lets out a soft sigh and cuts the engine, undoing her seatbelt before reaching for her purse. “Did you tell Ruby we’d be late? I shouldn’t be long, just have to pick up a book binder.”

“Where you hiding it these days?”

She grins, “Breakroom drawers; can’t be too careful. I also hate how nosy Dean gets when he comes to visit. Definitely have caught him going through my desk drawers at one point.”

Beth hates having to do work from home but she’s not about to fuck up this deal with Veto to have Carlita laugh in her face. They’ve had an odd rotation of cars but they’re up to eighteen, some on the sale floor, others in the backlot, some to the side waiting for ‘maintenance’ but they’ve made it work. The extra addition of cars to Boland Motors will slowly start disappearing to Veto’s warehouse next week.

She can literally _hear_ Rio tell her to relax but she’d rather be on top of a situation then let it accidently slip between her fingers.

Annie hums and waves her off, still thinking about her first question. “Is he like…doing jobs without you or is he buying another black jean jacket?”

A soft laugh leaves her lips, “Will you quit it? Rio has other things to do than hang around me all the time.”

Her sister scrunches her face, “Does he though?”

“And he only has the _one_ black jean jacket, by the way. He just got a blue one not too long ago.” She says knowingly and she gets a look for that too. “What? His closet is very organized.”

“You two are gross. Hurry up.”

Beth grins and hops out of the van, digging in her purse for her work keys. Tires screeching to the side of the building grab her attention and she frowns, stops, pauses as she watches a van skid out into the street.

It was coming from the backlot.

She feels all the color drain from her face because, no, no…she has to be imagining this. Her feet take her down the side of the building—the cars in a row all have their windows shattered, a pained noise leaving her throat as she gets to the back and—

The eight cars that were lined up are gone.

Only broken class left behind.

Beth turns on her heel and goes to unlock the back door, only to see that it’s jarred open—the two cars on display that match the numbers in her books are dismantled, glass splintered, haphazardly broken into. She doesn’t have to check the airbags to know that the drugs are gone. Her heart starts slamming against her ribcage, so hard it feels like it might knock her right over.

Her shoe skids on the floor, probably sliding on glass and she feels herself hit the ground but for some reason it doesn’t register because she gets up, too fast, her head is spinning. Her eyes are too busy staring at her office—her office—

Which is completely torn apart. The desk is flipped over, chairs broken and cushions ripped open with something sharp. Drawers are pulled out and overturned, windows fractured with splinters, picture frames stepped on, papers everywhere. God, this was planned. This was planned and if…if she would have been here sooner—

_With Annie._

She covers her mouth with her hand, the skin warm and sticky to the touch and there’s—she’s bleeding. When did that happen? Her eyes are wide, taking it all in; everything suddenly too loud and too sharp and too bright. She can’t breathe. She tries to draw oxygen into her lungs, to calm herself down and _think_ about this but all that keeps running through her mind is all the hard work she’s done over the past half a month has gone up in flames.

In one instant, it’s all gone.

She’s failed.

Beth’s never been shot and she has no idea what it feels like—but there’s this gaping hole in the center of her sternum that seems to suck all the oxygen out of the room; it’s aching and painful and it makes her want to bend at the waist and squeeze her eyes shut. All of the work she’s lined up, everything she assured herself she could take care of—gone, stolen. The meeting with Veto will never hit it off now; she needs more than a week to _fix this._

She feels herself back up against her couch, slowly sinking down onto it, ignoring the way feathers and stuffing poof up from under her into the air, floating like snow onto the broken glass.

She must sit there for a while because suddenly Annie’s in front of her face, hands on her shoulders, shaking her—she’s…she thinks she’s saying her name, asking her what happened but it’s hard to tell.

Beth feels like she’s underwater; her sister’s voice is far away, muffled like her ears are filled with cotton. She wants to tell her that she’s okay, she thinks she mouths the words? But the sounds are stuck under her tongue somewhere. She just needs a few minutes to get her head on straight—

And allows her eyes to close.

\--

There’s someone else there with Annie.

A deeper voice that reverberates differently than hers; she wants to open her eyes and look but she feels so disconnected from herself. They sound clearer stepping closer to her, crouching in front of her maybe?

“What happened?” They’re not asking her though; Beth’s mouth moves but nothing comes out.

“I don’t know,” Annie responds quickly, her voice dripping with worry. “We were going to the bar and she just…had to run in. She wasn’t gone for more than five minutes—I came in here and it was like this, _she_ was like this.”

“Elizabeth.”

Beth opens her eyes at that, her name, the way he says it—and her eyes focus on. On _Rio._ He’s there, right in front of her, crouched down at her knees. She takes a shuddering breath in and that’s when reality slams forward, right into her like a car crash. Her fingers s _queeze_ and when she looks down she sees that his one hand is between hers—

“I didn’t know who else to call; you’re still ‘Gang Friend’ in my phone.” Annie’s rambling, hovering near her overturned desk as she watches them.

She’s getting blood on his skin, on the sleeve of his gray Henley but he doesn’t seem to notice, he doesn’t even flinch. His eyes don’t leave hers as she looks back up at him, wild, like a frightened animal—

“Hey,” He soothes gently, “It’s alright, ma.” Rio’s other hand cups her cheek, runs his thumb along her cheekbone.

She wants to choke out so many words but for…some reason she forgets how to say them, _you’re here,_ and _I’m alright_ but nothing comes out. Instead her entire body starts to shake and her hand, God her hand fucking _hurts._ She remembers falling but…is there glass in it? She’s squeezing his hand too hard but he doesn’t try to disentangle from her.

“Do I call the cops?”

He turns his head to look at Annie, “No,” He says quickly before his jaw starts to work, “Not yet. Gotta take care of some things first.” He thinks a moment, drawing his lower lip into his mouth. Beth’s hyperaware of the action, fixates on it because it’s easier than dealing with the literal blood on her hands. “You know where the security footage is?”

“Yeah?” Her sister pauses and Rio’s patience flares ever so slightly as his motions with his chin to the door of her office.

“Go check it? Now would be great.”

Annie’s shoes crunch through the glass as she disappears, a soft sigh leaving Rio’s lips as he takes the beanie off his head and sticks it into his back pocket. Beth sniffles, looks down at their hands again, doesn’t realize that there’s tears welling in her eyes until one slips down her cheek and hits Rio’s thumb still sandwiched between both her hands.

“Look at me,” He says with a gentleness she’s always surprised he possesses and tips her chin with his forefinger. “I’m gonna take care of this, alright? We’re gonna get you cleaned up.”

Beth swallows and manages to nod, wants to apologize even though she knows this isn’t her fault. Even then just to say sorry for dragging him away from other work—despite that something warm and solid stirs right under her ribcage at the fact that he came for her when Annie called him.

She looks up as Annie comes back into her office, her face a little pale as she shakes her head, “Security desk is fucked, someone bashed the hell out of the computer.”

Rio doesn’t look surprised before letting out a slow breath; there are a few emotions working over his face as he thinks about what to do. His first priority is clear as he looks down at his hand trapped between her two bloody ones. He slowly wraps his other arm around her back and lifts her from the couch.

Her knees feel like bowls of jello and it takes her a moment to stand without heavily leaning against his side. He supports her, even when she feels like she might fall and squeezes her waist, absentminded circles traced into her hip bone.

“I’m gonna take her to the bathroom; you know where she keeps her books?” Annie glances at Beth and nods and for once she’s glad she didn’t put them in her desk. “Take them back to her house.”

Her sister opens and closes her mouth, hesitating on turning around; she doesn’t want to leave her. A rod of tension slides down Rio’s spine as he straightens his back, using his height to tower over Annie as he takes a step closer to her.

“I ain’t askin’—it’s only a matter of time before the cops show up on their own. She’ll be fine with me.”

Beth swallows thickly; the last thing she wants is for Annie to get into a screaming match with Rio because neither of them will back down. “Go Annie, please.”

Annie has to physically bite her tongue, she can see it, but she does leave. She takes one more look at her, leaning forward to kiss her cheek before turning to walk out of her office to get the books. Beth allows Rio to lead her to the bathroom, stepping over broken glass and closing the door behind them.

It seems like this small space is the only thing unscathed as Rio leans her against the sink. He licks his lips, pausing a moment before, “You gotta let go of me, mama.” And her mouth falls open because, oh, she still has a vice-like grip on his hand between her own.

Her muscles take a minute to listen before her bones move, unclasping his hand, Rio’s movements quick and practiced as he pulls open the cabinets under the sink. He tosses the First Aid kit onto the sink, rolling up his sleeves and turning the water on.

The sound echos in her ear a moment and she puts her hands underneath the cold water, almost stinging her skin, so that the blood washes away.

“I went through the lot,” Rio says after a moment, sifting through the First Aid for tweezers, gauze and antiseptic. “Didn’t do a hard look but it seems like we’re missin’ eight.”

She closes her eyes, leaning her forehead against the mirror in front of her a moment. “There’s glass everywhere,” She whispers, voice a little raw, “They broke into the remaining ten.”

Rio gently pulls her back from the mirror and washes his own hands before examining her palms against his own. There’s a soft scrunch between his eyebrows as he splays her fingers, “Airbags aren’t as easy to get into without deployin’ them,” He licks his lips. “This was fast, if they just wanted to destroy shit we might have more than you think.”

Beth winces, a soft noise leaving her lips as his thumb presses against her lifeline, her arm jerking back out of instinct even though he won’t let her go.

“You got a bit of glass in there.”

She swallows, putting her other hand over her forehead for a moment to take a soft breath in, trying to dig her heels into the ground to refocus herself. “I fell.”

He hums a little, his eyes taking a moment to drink her in, analyzing her like he’s trying to bookmark her idiosyncrasies. “You hurt anywhere else?”

When she shakes her head, he opens up his palm and waits for her to put her hand into his own. Rio grabs the tweezers and angles her hand open a little to lean over and look for the shard of glass that’s sticking out of her wound. She closes her eyes, tries to distract herself from gritting her teeth because he’s _digging—_

“It was Carlita.” She says after a moment, pain wrapped around her syllables.

He pauses but then continues his administrations, “We don’t know that.”

She’s pretty sure her jaw falls open onto the sink because _what?_ “Yes we do,” Her voice is stronger than she feels, a soft noise leaving her lips as Rio manages to get the glass out. She scrunches her nose at the tiny piece between the tweezers as he rinses it down the sink and pours antiseptic on cotton balls. “It has to be her. She’s the only one who would get off on all this.”

He lets out a soft sigh, squeezing the tips of her fingers before cleaning out her cut. She wants to blame his silence on the fact that he’s concentrating, but deep down something hard like a cinder block falls into her gut—and she knows it’s because he’s coming up with excuses. How can he think that it’s not her? Ever since Carlita laid eyes on her, she’s been wanting to rip her apart at the seams. There’s not one other person Beth can think of who’d do this.

“You don’t think we’re makin’ waves?” Rio asks, bandaging up her hand before letting her go. He throws away bloody cotton balls and closes the First Aid lid before giving her his full attention, “We’ve gotten into it with so many people, none of them on the list of reliable citizens darlin’—think about how many buyers we’ve said no to in the past month.”

She can’t actually believe this is coming out of his mouth; doesn’t he—understand what it was like to walk into her dealership like this? Everything smashed? Everything falling to pieces? The fact that everything she worked for crumbled to ashes right in front of her eyes and _he wasn’t there?_

“Why are you defending her?” She snaps, her voice like gravel because maybe this is what it’s really about. Maybe it has nothing to do with the possibility of someone else, a pissed off buyer, and everything to do with Rio’s shared history with Carlita.

Once again, something he’s told her not to worry about, is somehow rearing its ugly head in their business. In _her_ business—something she had to take from Dean and build from the ground up and start all over again. Something that means so much to her, that it’s not just a cover for their drug-filled cars but that it represents her independence; to be a hard-working boss and mother all at the same time.

“I’m defendin’ our deal,” Rio says, his voice is firm and cuts like the glass she fell on. “We will fuckin’ ruin our deal with Veto if we accuse her of this and she didn’t do it.” He spells it out to her, almost like a child, his frustration poking through the thin layer he usually sets between them. “And then what? Huh? You got an answer for that too?”

“She broke in here and smashed everything I’ve built,” Beth’s voice is high and pitched and she doesn’t realize she’s started crying until her arm flies out and knocks the First Aid kit off the sink with a resounding _thump._ Rio moves off the sink, standing in front of her with his arms in front of him like he wants to touch her but doesn’t yet, “If I would have gotten here _ten minutes_ sooner—” She chokes off, her breathing uneven and painful.

Then what? Ten minutes sooner and then? What? Used her gun? Stopped her? Stopped _whoever?_ Getting hurt? Getting Annie hurt?

She squeezes her eyes shut, her one hand coming up to hide her face as a sob rips itself from her chest. She can feel Rio shift on his feet, moving to pull her into his chest even though she tries to push him away.

“C’mon, it’s alright.” He whispers, his hand finding her hair at the back of her neck. Regardless of how much she doesn’t want to, she melts against him, breathing him in as her fingers fist the material of his shirt.

His arms squeeze her tighter, his other hand creating patterned circles along her spine. “Shh, you’re okay. I got you.”

Rio doesn’t pull back until she’s ready and Beth actually allows herself the time to just fall apart.

\--

Beth has to close down the dealership for a few days to take inventory and to make sure all the glass is cleaned up. It turns out that Rio was right—only a few cars out of remaining ten had been broken into and the drugs taken. Even then, they were still down eight cars being stolen out of the backlot and three cars wiped clean.

She sighs as she puts her elbows on her knees, running her hands over her face and pinches the bridge of her nose. It’s nearing the end of the week and while they’re just making deals with Veto for storage, he still wants a guarantee of twenty cars. He’s said that he prides himself on working with people long-term—if they can’t even commit to their first promise…

Her fingers twist her keyring of keys on his coffee table, eyes identifying her house keys, the dealership keys…and one new one.

_“Here, take this.”_

_For a minute she doesn’t know what it is because it’s not like he hasn’t given her keys before; this one’s too big for a storage unit. It’s the most offhanded way Rio could give her a key to his apartment, at their bar, not really talking about anything—just having a drink on the way home from a deal._

_She blinks, still unable to say anything other than, “It’s a key.”_

_He puts his hands together and smiles, leaning against the bar counter. “Good job,” Then takes a slow slip of his whiskey. “You can’t keep enterin’ my apartment through the fire escape, one of these days someone is gonna call the cops on you.”_

_“I think you underestimate my ability at being stealth.” She replies, a little teasing, but definitely puts that key into her pocket before he can change his mind._

_He smiles at her, slow and easy before licking his lips. “Maybe I’d believe you more without the bar pretzel in your hair.”_

_Beth turns bright red and instantly tries to check the sides of her hair, which just makes Rio laugh as he reaches to get it for her._

Rio’s hand comes down onto her shoulder, making her jump and when she looks up at him, he hands her a mug of tea. A small smile tugs the ends of her mouth as she takes it and breathes in the heady scent of cinnamon before taking a sip. The liquid is too hot but somehow it’s soothing as it travels down her throat, warming her chest.

He sits down in one of the black leather lounge chairs in his apartment, cattycorner to the couch where she’s running her hands through her hair. Her eyes glance over the books spread out over his coffee table; trying to make ends meet where she knows they just can’t. Not soon enough, anyways.

“So what do you wanna do?” He asks, reaching for the tea she’s set down on the table to take a sip.

Beth pulls her hair back into a messy bun, raising an eyebrow. “You’re asking me?”

He smiles, just a little, something faint and warm before he leans back into the chair. “Yeah, I’m askin’ you.”

She sighs and considers him for a moment, a small thrill working its way down her spine at how far they’ve come. There was a certain point where Rio would strongarm, where he didn’t care if she had an opinion or not because he had a business to run; but now? It really feels like they’re in this thing together.  

“We’ve got seven good cars to hand over to Veto.”

He nods, “That’s not twenty.”

“It’s all we have, it’s almost Friday.”

Rio pushes back on her very purposely and she knows it’s to help her grow and to consider options she hadn’t thought of before but it’s frustrating and she feels her blood start to bubble under her skin when he gives her a look, “I told you…that twenty wasn’t gonna be doable.”

She bites her tongue, hard, because _I told you so_ isn’t what she needs to hear right now. “Really?”

He clears his throat and sits up, putting his elbows on his knees as he looks at her. If she allows herself to be distracted, the position highlights the strong muscles in his forearms, beautifully shown off by the fact that he has on a maroon colored t-shirt. She wishes she could focus on that, just for a little, one of the best shades he doesn’t wear often enough. Beth thinks about the block tattoos sticking out on the back of his arms, how she wants to press a kiss between each of them.

But unfortunately, now is not that time.

“Look, as much as you hate it, this is all a lesson not to offer somethin' you don't have. Because shit happens.”

She hates how much she sounds like a petulant child when she says, “Thank you, I’m learning _so_ much.” but part of her wants to tell him to be quiet if he’s not going to offer anything helpful.

Yes, this is a giant fuck up and maybe she shouldn’t have tried to stretch their limits but something she’s never going to admit is…she wanted Veto to be impressed with them. With _her._ She remembers the first time she heard about Veto in Rio’s car, how he talked about him, how he was very good at what he did and that he’d been doing it for a long time. They remind her of one another, Rio and Veto; both working hard to remain on top of their own businesses. Both young, handsome and too charming for their own good.

Rio looks away from her, his hands coming together to lace his fingers as he thinks and silence stretches out between them. Beth closes the binder on the coffee table and picks up her tea, holding it in her one hand, letting the warmth snake up her arm before taking a sip.

When she looks at him, he’s got a hand rubbing at his temples—he seems just as frustrated as she is with all this but why _can’t he just say it?_

“This doesn’t bother you?” She asks after a minute. “That someone broke into the dealership and destroyed everything? Took our cars right out from under us?”

“You get used to dealin’ with setbacks.” He has the nerve to shrug his one shoulder but there’s definitely unresolved tension working the muscles of his jaw. “When your sister called…” He trails off a moment and she can see…a flicker of something, almost as plain as day before it disappears, “She talks too fast. All I heard was ‘glass’, ‘blood’ and somethin’ about you.”

He was _worried_ about her.

“But you’re good—so everythin’ else we can figure out.”

That’s the problem isn’t it? Beth isn’t sure how they’re supposed to do that. She chews on her lower lip, curling a random strand of hair behind her ear as she looks down at the closed binder. If they can’t get the amount of cars that they need by Friday…then they might as well go to Veto with a definitive answer about what happened.

“What did you mean when you said you were going to take care of it?”

Rio licks his lips and dips his head forward a moment to run his hand over his hair, “You’re not gonna like it,” She holds her breath, “I could go talk to Carlita.”

She scoffs softly before chewing on the inside of her cheek—she should have known this was coming. “How about _I_ talk to Carlita.”

He nods, “Sure, if you want her to close up like a clam and admit jack shit to you.”

“Oh and she’ll open up for _you_ is what you’re saying?”

He’s quiet for a moment, reaching for her mug of cooling tea to take another sip because it’s easier than speaking to her. His eyes narrow as he looks her over, confusion pulling the skin between his eyebrows because,

“Why don’t you just tell me what you want.” She can hear that patience start to snap, “You can’t say that you think it’s Carlita and then have a problem with me wantin’ to ask her.”

“That’s my problem,” Beth says suddenly, her voice pinched. “You _asking_ her. You still don’t think she did this.”

“I didn’t say that, I said we don’t know who did it. There’s no benefit in her trashin’ the dealership.”

Beth feels an overwhelming wave of exasperation hit against her ribcage over and over until she has no choice but to let out a frustrated noise. She puts her hand over her face and thinks for a moment, not wanting to say something she regrets. It’s just…she knows this isn’t the same thing but she can’t help but think of _all_ the times that Dean’s never had her back, was never in her corner, never wanted to believe her when she had a gut feeling about things because ‘he always knew what was best’. And Dean…Dean isn’t Rio. He’s not and it’s unfair for her to make the comparison.

But she’s feels so certain about this.

“You’re…sure.” Beth says after a moment, wants it to be a question but it doesn’t sound like one.

Rio sighs and stands up, moving the binder on the coffee table so he can sit on the edge of it. His knees bump into hers, his hand reaching for the one she has on her lap. Her eyes trace the long veins under his skin, that rope bracelet on his wrist, the gold pinky ring that feels ice cold against her fingers.

“I know her—she’s not gonna fuck up a deal to be petty.”

And maybe, deep down, that’s her real problem: that he _knows_ her. That her frustration and unsureness and doubt has everything to do with Rio’s shared past with Carlita. At the end of the day it’s…sometimes hard for her to think about the fact that she’s not the first woman who’s shared this complicated bond with Rio; that he worked with Carlita, cared enough about her to teach her.

Maybe even loved her.

And that? Just settles heavily in Beth’s stomach like a wound that won’t heal.

“Wouldn’t you rather be sure?” He asks after a few moments, his thumb tracing along the cut that’s slowly healing on her palm.

Beth holds his gaze for a few long moments before nodding, a soft sigh tumbling out of her lips because he’s right. He hums, the sound deep in his chest as he leans forward to press a lingering kiss against her forehead.

He squeezes her hand before he stands, eyeing her mug of tea that she’s holding on to, “I’m gonna get my own damn tea before I drink all yours.”

She lets out a soft sigh before lying down on her stomach on his couch, cushioning her chin against a pillow so she can look at him move around the kitchen. His body is fluid as he gets another mug, another teabag, plugs in the electric tea kettle—all long lines and tan skin and tattoos. Watching him is somehow comforting and the soft smile he gives her over the kitchen counter is enough for her to push away thoughts of Carlita.

At least for right now.

\--

Carlita’s always been good at disappearing, even when they were working together he’d sometimes lose her for days at a time until she decided to come back. It was fucking frustrating and almost, _almost,_ admirable because Rio’s always had a knack for rootin’ people out.

Not her though. If she wanted to be gone, she would be—and no matter what rock he tried to overturn lookin’ for her, it wouldn’t give him any results.

The only reason he knows where to find her is because she doesn’t _mind_ bein’ found this time, maybe even wants him to show up as he rounds a street corner downtown. His eyes glance into a little art shop that’s closin’ up for the night before he’s face to face with a fire escape. He licks his lips and scales the wall with his eyes a moment to get a good look at what he’s dealing with, taking a quick glance around him before yanking on the ladder.

It falls down with a rickety groan, Rio taking two steps at a time to climb up towards his destination. A soft smile tugs at the ends of his mouth because of course he finds himself thinking about Elizabeth breaking into his apartment for the first time, slippin’ right through his bedroom window. He’d been pissed off, sure, but still…that _somethin’_ about her always seems to hit him over the head when he least expects it.

It’s why he keeps comin’ back despite his better judgement, despite part of him that says not to.

Rio slips into her apartment easily, the window slightly ajar. He takes a moment to adjust his jean jacket, running a hand over his hair before glancing around her place. There are so many things that slam right into him, drippin’ with memories he’d rather not think of, the heady scent of sunflowers mixed with paint making it difficult. Much like his own apartment, it doesn’t look much from the outside but her place is lavish with black leather accents and marble countertops.

He walks down the hall to find her in the corner of her bedroom, as he figured she would be, her back to him as he leans against the doorframe. She’s seated in front of a large canvas on an easel by her window but she only has one bedside light on, not ideal for painting. She knows that he’s there, he can tell by the tension working its way down the back of her spine as she plays with a paintbrush; maybe mixin’ paint?

Rio doesn’t move, not yet, his eyes traveling down the long lines of her exposed back—painting just in shorts and a lace bra.

Typical.

“How’d you find me?” She asks after a moment, not turning to look at him, would much rather spend her time reaching for another tube of paint.

He shrugs, “Even after all this time, you're not a hard read, Carlita. You still pick apartments above tiny art shops.”

Her shoulders tip forward when she smiles, setting paint aside and grabbing a brush to mix on her palette. “You sound like a fuckin’ stalker, Rio. That might work for Mom-Van but it’s not gonna work on me.”

“It _used_ to work for you.” He points out, taking a step into her bedroom. Rio pushes his hands into his jean jacket pockets, eyes fluttering over tiny messes in her room: clothes strewn about, coffee cups littering the floor and dresser, empty paint tubes, used paintbrushes, unmade lavender sheets twisted on her bed.

Definitely Carlita-chaos and his fingers twitch inside his pockets, wanting to straighten or clean up or somethin’. But that had always been part of their problem; Rio tryin’ to fix her when she didn’t need it.

“I’m in no mood to deal with you right now,” She disrupts his train of thought, glancing just a little over her shoulder. “So can you go? You can even use the door this time when you leave.”

Carlita always has time to make a mess of things and judgin’ from the fact that they haven’t seen one another in years? this should be her perfect excuse to dig her fingernails under his skin. That’s how she was actin’ at the dealership that night and that _should_ be how she’s actin’ now…but she’s not.

Which just tells him something is wrong.

He tilts his head a little, trying to get a read on her but her pages are glued shut. She won’t let him in. Rio lets out a soft sigh and looks over her shoulder instead, at her artwork, dark purple hues mixed with blacks and blues—impressionism just like he remembers.

“Nice to know you’re still paintin’,” He takes a few steps closer to her canvas, glancing down at her fingers working a thin brush in the corner, “Maybe if you spent half the time doin’ this instead of casin’ art galleries, you’d be able to get a few in.”

“Thanks so much for caring about my artistic future,” She spills out, her accent a little thicker on the edges of her words—she’s upset, “Unless you’re here to buy one of these art pieces you won’t shut up about, I want you to leave.”

Then he sees it, a shadow underneath her cheekbone and he reaches forward to tip her face in his direction—

and a dark purple bruise greets him.

Carlita is quick to shove his hand away, getting up from the stool she’s sitting on to take a few steps back from him. She’s pissed off, cagey, reaching for a sweater to pull over her head and cover up her bra like she wasn’t just sittin’ in front of him this whole time half-naked. He’s pulled a thread and now he has to deal with the unravelin’.

“What happened?” He asks even though he has a few thoughts, all of them circlin’ around Veto not being as kind and patient as he appears to be. Regardless of the shit they’ve been through, he still doesn’t like the look of that bruise on her face.

She curls her long hair around her ear, a frustrated noise leaving her lips because whatever’s gone on? He’s the last person she wants to tell, “Why don't you save this caring routine for someone more easily fooled.”

Her words are tiny pinpricks in his skin and while she doesn’t say Elizabeth’s name, he knows that’s who she’s talkin’ about. Carlita wraps her arms around herself, like a wall, slowly picking the bricks up on her own and stacking with mortar between them. He recognizes the hesitance, the _push,_ because they’ve always been the same side of one coin.

She sits down on the edge of her bed, near the nightstand, “Tell me why you’re really here.” Because the sooner they have an honest conversation, the sooner he’ll leave.

Rio sighs, running his hand over the lower half of his face before he considers his options. He could press and she could tell him to fuck off (again) and maybe throw an empty coffee mug at his head or he could just get to the point of why he showed up.

He’s here for a reason anyways, “You know why.”

Because even if she had nothin’ to do with Boland Motors, he knows her, knows that she’s at least heard about it by now. She soaks up information like a sponge and if Veto’s not talkin’ about it? someone is.

She scoffs, something harsh and distant as he takes a seat next to her. “And what? Elizabeth send you like some sort of attack dog?”

He refuses to let her push his buttons, he knows why she’s doin’ it—she wants him to leave, knows mentioning Elizabeth is probably her best trigger to pull but he’s not budgin’. Their shared history is an inkblotted mess, Carlita’s quite literally stabbed him in the back and he doesn’t trust her…and yet.

And yet there’s still somethin’ about her that he can instinctively feel out and this whole trashin’ Boland Motors? She didn’t do it.

“I came to you because I know you and from what I remember, you were always good about keepin’ your ear to the ground.” 

Carlita pauses, her fingers digging into the material of her sweater as she holds onto Rio’s gaze. He’s got her, he can read the expression in her eyes, the gentle softness at the edges from so long ago that feels like it was yesterday. She swallows, hand squeezing her bicep until her knuckles turn white before she nods,

“I can find out.”

He lets out a slow breath; somethin’ to work with at least. His eyes graze over the darkened mark on her face, his fingers once again twitching to touch her even though he doesn’t. It looks painful, like it’s happened recently, a soft shake to his head as the words spill from his mouth,

“You know if you let him put his hands on you he won’t stop.”

Carlita bristles, like hands made of steel grip the back of her shoulders and straighten her posture, “I don’t _let_ anyone do anythin’.”

He smirks as the muscles of her jaw work, clearly annoyed with him, that temper always burning right underneath the surface like embers from a fire that needs to be tended to. Rio stands from her bed and licks his lower lip, her body language a little more open than before, looking up at him with an unguarded expression.

“Just…stab him in the back, that always seems to work out for you.” He’s teasing even though his voice isn’t light.

What she did is somethin’ he’s never going to forget or forgive, but does he get it? Yeah, because as he told Elizabeth standin’ in her living room with her beaten and bloody husband bound to a chair next to him—it’s kill or be killed; he wasn’t makin’ that part up.

He watches the corner of her mouth lift, just a little before that cool indifference slips right into place again like a mask. Rio then reaches forward and touches the tip of her chin, his thumb brushing right underneath her jawline before he pulls back, “Put some ice on that, yeah?”

And this time? Rio does use the front door to leave.

\--

Beth glances up at Rio, leaning against the dresser in her bedroom, as he says that Veto’s hitting Carlita. She holds his gaze for a moment, thinking about the bruise that’s long gone on her own face from Warez, but can still feel the sting of his metal ring cutting her skin.

The same ring that’s in the drawer of her nightstand.

Her movements continue again as she folds laundry, creating small stacks on her bed of her kids’ clothes, some of Dean’s t-shirts from when he comes over to do yard work and her own. The house is quiet tonight, at least, with Dean moved into a tiny apartment downtown they’ve started splitting nights with the kids. It’s hard and messy and they try to keep a schedule that always gets screwed up one time or another, but at least they’re attempting to make it work. At least for right now.

She curls her hair around her ear and picks up one of her blouses, grabbing a hanger to hang it up in her closet.

“And you believe her?” It’s a knee-jerk ask and she hates that it comes out of her mouth because…she’s been there, she knows what it’s like to have some guy smack his fist across her face and she’s what…accusing her of lying?

Rio’s voice is a little tight, “What you think she hit herself in the face?”

Beth sighs, hides inside her closet a moment so she doesn’t have to leave and see that disappointed look on his face. Yeah, bad question.

“I guess I mean, do you think it was Veto?” She says after a moment, moving to lean against the doorframe of her closet to look at him.

He holds her gaze for a moment, his jaw working as he tries to read something underneath her skin, “You don’t wanna think it was him...because you like him.”

Beth’s eyebrows come together; the way he says it isn’t exactly… he’s not angry or amused but there’s something chillingly possessive about his tone. It reaches deep into her ribcage and _pulls,_ his eyes a shade darker as he draws his lower lip into his mouth a moment.

“I like working with him, yes.” Is that so terrible? “I just find it hard to believe that someone like Veto is putting his hands on a woman.”

“Oh baby you don’t gotta look and act like Warez to be a monster.” He tuts, his syllables almost scolding and he reads right through her like he so often does, like she’s made out of glass. “Why don’t you say what’s really botherin’ you.”

“I’m having a hard time trusting her.”

Beth’s eyes travel up and down his form; simple black jeans tonight and a white t-shirt that shows off his skin and tattoos, jean jacket forgotten about downstairs. His golden accented gun bulges at his left side, making it almost distracting, but for some reason she’d rather it be in his waistband than on her dresser.

“That’s good,” Rio watches her, in turn, move back to her bed to pick up more laundry to fold. “I’m not sayin’ you gotta make her the bridesmaid at your next wedding or invite her to girl’s night, but she can figure out who trashed the dealership.”

She takes a deep breath into her lungs and nods because, at least at this point, she can agree with that statement. There’s something about Carlita that really digs under her skin, festers, and she’s not going to let it go. It’s not just about her relationship with Rio—she doesn’t know whether she’s lying about Veto or the dealership or _what,_ but she’s going to figure it out.

“Does she have any leads?” She takes a pile of clothes and walks them into her closet before coming back out, pulling a few more things out of the bushel.

Rio’s lips tug into a small smile at the corners as he reaches for something red on her bed. “I don’t remember seein’ these before,” And of course he’s holding up lace underwear. She tries to snatch them from him but he pulls it away from her grasp, “They new?”

She huffs out a soft sound but smirks, can’t help it, the entertained glint in his eyes contagious.

“You going to give them back?”

“Maybe.” Rio says, running his thumbs very purposely over the edges of lace and she tries not to squirm. “You promise to put them on later?”

Beth smiles, “Only if you promise to take them off later.”

He hums and tosses them back to her and she leaves them out on her nightstand before gathering up some other underwear with her bras to put in a drawer behind Rio. He leans up off the dresser and moves to sit down on the onther side of her bed, running a hand over his throat in thought.

“You remember Ronald?”

How could she forget? That pick-up had been a nightmare—he was shifty, nervous, didn’t trust what she was there to do; it instantly spiraled out of control. There’s a thin white line on her collarbone from where he’d cut her that never completely healed. All of that had taken place at Boland Motors but…Carlita couldn’t be suggesting that—

“She found out that we worked with Ronald in the past? That fast?”

Rio shrugs his one shoulder, “She’s good.”

She opens and closes her mouth a moment, leaning back against the dresser, “She really thinks that _Ronald_ is capable of doing something like that? The man was a bag of nerves, even when he cut me.” She finds that hard to believe.

“Ronald was a shifty fuck, yeah, but if you take the same man and surround him with people that encourage him to be a stupid baddass…then you get one idiot robbin’ your dealership just because he can.”  Beth tries to follow his line of thought, chewing on the inside of her lower lip. She supposes that…could make sense? Ronald was certainly _not_ fond of her, at any rate.

“If you would have let me take care of him the night he hurt you—” She waves a hand to stop him.

“Oh I know you’re not blaming this whole thing on me.”

A soft smile quirks the corner of his mouth, “Nah,” He clears his throat, “But if it _is_ Ronald, he’s not gettin’ another chance. I guess breakin’ all the bones in his right hand wasn’t clear enough.”

Beth sighs, running a hand over her face. Silence passes between them but it’s not uncomfortable, despite Rio’s admittance of how he tried to deal with Ronald.

She glances at the time and finds herself way too surprised that it’s almost past nine. She’s not sure where these days are going, the fact that it’s Thursday tomorrow setting her nerves on fire. Beth has no idea how they’re going to lead that meeting—the only thing she can put her trust in, ironically, is Carlita to come up with who robbed the dealership.

Rio stands up and rounds the bed to where she’s sitting, gently sliding his fingers along the side of her face to brush her hair behind her ear. She looks up at him, a soft smile decorating her face as a wave of his cologne mixed with laundry detergent wafts to her nose.

“I should go.”

She chews on her lower lip as he pulls away, almost out of her bedroom when, “You could stay,” She says quickly, a soft blush kissing her cheeks at her insistence. She clears her throat and stands from bed, moving to her bedroom door where he’s hovering. “If you wanted.”

His eyes travel over her face, trying to read her by just looking at her front cover. Rio glances at the bed, licks his lips before, “Aight,” Gentle and almost too soft in the big space of her bedroom. “I gotta call Marcus, say goodnight.”

With all the versions of Rio she’s worked with, somehow this one always ends up being her favorite. A little soft, a little guarded, the love that he has for his son spilling over unquestionable. She feels warmth explode in her chest, seeping down to create butterflies in her stomach and she reaches up to cup the side of his face.

He’s confused, just for a moment, his eyebrows drawing together at the gentle touch but then relaxes into it. Beth tilts his head down and she lifts herself up on her toes to press a soft kiss against his forehead.

Rio’s eyelashes fan against his cheekbones, his own hand coming up to cover her own before he pulls away. He squeezes her fingers once before drawing back and leaving the bedroom to call Marcus.

She lets out a slow breath, moving to her closet to change into her pajamas. She forgoes the matching sets for tonight and tugs on a long tank top, shimmying out of her high-waisted underwear and walking to her nightstand to pull the red lace ones up her legs. She smirks, just a little before biting her lower lip and tugging the sheets down on her bed.

Her phone lights up on the nightstand and she glances at the screen to see a notification from Veto.

She swallows, swiping open the text:

_Looking forward to our meeting on Friday. I also wouldn’t say no to more of those blueberry muffins._

She hates that she actually does a mental inventory of her kitchen to see if she has the ingredients for said blueberry muffins. Beth doesn’t reply, instead turns the phone over on her nightstand and crawls into bed. She’s asleep long before Rio joins her.

\--

Beth has always been a light sleeper; she blames it on her childhood of always waking up to her parents arguing. Then later in life it was Dean watching the TV too loud and then of course she had four kids, so sleeping in was never an option anyways. But even now when the house is quiet, the sun creeping in through the curtains in the early morning, she finds her eyelids fluttering open at six AM.

She sighs softly, her gaze adjusting on Rio beside her, still sleeping, his head turned away from her as he lies on his back. Beth takes a few minutes to just… _look_ at him; the sheets are at the edge of his hips, his stomach on full view, his hands resting lazily on his torso. He sleeps with that rope bracelet and his rings; wonders if he ever takes them off, the gentle up and down motion of his chest moving making her want to lean over and kiss his sternum.

She allows one of her hands to settle on his, moving slowly to press a kiss against the right wingspan of the bird on his neck before pulling herself out of bed. Rio doesn’t wake up, he shifts slightly and lets out a long sigh through his nose, but other than that he remains in the same position.

Beth sneaks into her bathroom to brush her teeth and pull her hair back into a loose bun before slipping downstairs in her slippers and the long tank top she went to sleep in. She raises her arms up and over her head, yawning as she puts a pot of coffee on and rubs the side of her neck.

She’s trying to decide whether she wants a lazy or complicated breakfast, leaning her elbows onto the counter before drumming her fingers a few times against the surface. Pancakes? Or French Toast? She licks her lips and turns to open up a cabinet to get a few mugs out, the coffee halfway brewed by the time she goes to pour it.

She’s proud of herself that she doesn’t spill any when she feels two arms snake around her waist from behind, fading scents of his cologne mixed with skin overwhelming her senses. She leans back into him a moment before setting the coffee pot down, turning in his arms to see him dressed just as she’s left him.

In just his boxer briefs.

“Please don’t tell me I gotta drink that bean water.” His voice is rough, still streaked with sleep.

She leans forward and wraps her arms around his neck, pulling him down just a little so that the chain on his chest brushes against her skin. His hands fall to her waist, squeezing her hip bones, thumb rubbing along the fabric.

“I mean, it’d be only fair seeing as how I have to drink tea when I’m at your place.”

He scrunches his nose in distaste and a soft laugh slips from Beth’s lips before she presses herself up on her toes to hug him—just because she can. She sets her chin on his shoulder, turning her face into his neck, placing a kiss there as his arms wind their way around her waist. She squeezes him, soaking into the moment, like it might slip between her fingers before she realizes it’s gone.

She closes her eyes, his hand moving up and down her spine before she pulls back.

“You distractin’ me will not make me forgive you for the lack of tea.”

Beth pouts and Rio leans forward to nip at her lower lip with his own. “If you…make breakfast, I’ll search this kitchen for tea bags, cross my heart.”

He rolls his eyes but squeezes her hips before pulling away, moving to her fridge to open it up and see what he’s working with. Beth licks her lips as she puts her coffee on the island table along with his empty mug, intent on looking for tea bags but gets distracted by the long planes of his back.

Rio looks over his shoulder at her, a soft smile tugging the ends of his mouth when he realizes she’s checking him out, “How you feel about omelettes?”

Her cheeks dot the softest of pinks before she nods, “Yeah, that works. We got cheese and a few vegetables you can work with.”

Rio gets out a few things from the fridge: milk for her coffee, eggs, leftover ham she made for a dinner the one night, green peppers and butter. Once she gets out the pan for him, she lets him take control of her kitchen and use whatever he needs to make omelettes while she searches for tea bags she knows she saw somewhere.

First, she puts water in the tea kettle and sets it on the stove, a soft tune leaving her lips as she hums—successfully finding Earl Gray tea in the back of a drawer behind birthday candles. She waves them at Rio, who smirks softly as he’s cutting up green peppers.

“Maybe you could bring over one of your tea tins, keep it here?” Beth says softly, adding milk into her coffee—she’s hinting at the fact that he might be here for more mornings, if he’s up to it.

Rio chews on his lower lip, popping a few pieces of ham into his mouth before nodding. “Could do that. Maybe some shirts too.”

She smiles, rounding the counter to stand next to him as she drops a tea bag into his empty mug. “I don’t know, I kinda like the whole ‘no shirt’ look.”

He licks his lips, setting the knife down on the cutting board as his eyes travel along Beth’s form—his hands following the action a moment later as he moves to press her against the counter.

“Could say the same for you.”

Beth looks down at herself, a soft sound leaving her lips as she tugs the fabric of her long tank top. “Still got this on.”

“Not for long,” Rio’s lips are suddenly on hers, touch a little rough and insistent as he grabs at her hips.

His kiss is bruising, a moan leaving Beth’s throat as she feels him yank her shirt up. The edge of the counter digs into her spine but she barely notices it as his lips fall to her neck, his one hand holding onto her throat, thumb tracing her collarbone. As much as she likes it when they kiss slow, when their touches are gentle and warm—there’s something about _this_ that she enjoys even more.

It reminds her of the first time, in the bathroom at that bar, touch firm and unforgiving. The way his arms had picked her up, manhandled her against the wall, held her there while they fucked—it’s slightly reflective of how he’s touching her now, unhesitant, a little possessive as he leaves marks with his mouth and fingertips.

He’s pulling back just a fraction, just long enough for Beth to pull at his lower lip slightly with her teeth, his eyes traveling down her body to where he’s pulling the tank up, his fingers curling under the fabric of the red lace underwear she’s got on for him—

Only for the front door to open.

Beth’s eyes flutter to Rio, both of them unmoving, but she can tell by the look on his face exactly who’s walked into her house. There’s a hint of amusement dancing along his mouth as he very slowly stands up, his shoulders straightening, hands still on her hips as she turns to see—

Dean.

Dean staring at them with his jaw practically on the floor.

“Beth…” He trails off, that same look in his eyes that shouldn’t bother her so much sinking underneath her skin and making her feel sick. She very gently squeezes one of Rio’s wrists and his arms drop from being a cage around her so she can pull her tank top down.

She clears her throat, running her fingers over her shirt before stirring sugar into her coffee because it feels like the only sane thing she can do to stop so much blush from attacking her cheeks.

“Dean, just because I let you keep your key doesn’t mean you get to wander in any time you want.”

He scoffs, taking a few steps into the kitchen, his eyes picking up on details of their breakfast he doesn’t want to see. “Well, I didn’t think you’d be doing—” He stutters to come up with words, motioning to the counter.

“What?” Rio asks, a little too smug. “Me?”

Dean’s mouth opens further, anger lighting like a flame in his eyes and Beth glances between the two of them—knows suddenly that this isn’t going to end well.

“Pretty sure she don’t gotta ask for your permission, dick.” There’s not one instance of shame on Rio’s face—he could give a shit that Dean’s walked in on him almost tugging down her underwear in the middle of the kitchen. In fact? he looks like he almost enjoys it. “You want an omelette or?”

“What are you doing here?” Beth asks quickly, almost over top of Rio’s last sentence.

But what she’s saying doesn’t matter, it’s too late, the fire in Dean’s eyes has already been stoked by Rio’s words.

“You’re right, she doesn’t have to ask for my permission. I guess I just figured…you wouldn’t have time to bang other people’s wives in their kitchen when you have a son.” And just like that, a shadow passes over Rio’s face.

“Dean.” Beth snaps but he ignores her.

“I guess you should be proud, not everyone can be a bad father _and_ a criminal—”

And just like that, the _one_ thing that would disrupt Rio’s cold and indifferent demeanor is the mention of his son. Relief blooms in Beth’s chest that he doesn’t have his gun on him, but that doesn’t mean Rio doesn’t instantly close the space between him and Dean, hand stretched out to grab him—

And she jumps in the middle, hands on Rio’s chest, his drive insistent—almost pushing her out of the way.

“Rio stop, don’t!” She tries, a frustrated noise leaving her lips as she can feel Dean puffing out his chest behind her. Part of her wants to let Rio go, let him throw a punch if he wants to for the out of hand comment.

The tea kettle starts to boil; a dull whistle that starts spitting loudly and out of control, steam rising around them to almost reflect the heightened mess they’re in.

He knew Rio’s weak spot, just from that one interaction at Jane’s birthday party and she feels partly responsible because all Beth did was try to convince Dean that Rio was more than just a criminal—that he _was_ a good father too. She’d probably slap him herself if she wasn’t so focused on preventing another incident that ended with her having to clean up blood in her house.

“Rio,” She squeezes his arms, trying to get him to look at her. His eyes, wild and _pissed off_ eventually do meet her own, and she shakes her head because Dean isn’t worth it.

Only when she feels his body relax under her touch, muscles uncoiling just slightly, does she turn the fire off from under the tea kettle. His indifferent demeanor is back, sliding onto his body like a cold blanket and he straightens his back as he addresses Dean.

Regardless of how calm he says it, there’s venom dripping from his words, “Kids are far more observant than we give ‘em credit for, so I wouldn’t be surprised if they knew _exactly_ why you don’t live here anymore. But I’m the bad father, right?”

Beth can see the change on Dean’s face, the guilt bubbling to the surface and taking over his entire expression but before he can get another word in,

“It’s time for you to go. Get what you came for and leave.”

Dean lets out a short breath, nodding his head before he takes a step back from them. “I’m not bringing them back here tonight.” And it’s a punishment, she knows that, but it’s bait she’s not willing to take as he collects something from the living room and leaves—slamming the front door shut.

Beth leans against the counter, closing her eyes as Rio hovers somewhere beside her. It takes her a moment to start moving but she eventually pours hot water into the empty awaiting mug that has his teabag in it—the action feeling a little foolish after all that. She just wants to dive back into before Dean showed up and she bites her tongue, hard, on saying that despite him moving out he somehow still ruins everything.

She glances over her shoulder at Rio, who’s leaning back against the sink, his arms folded in front of his chest like a cage. He’s tense, jaw working, fingers flexing like he wants to hit something. She swallows, turns to face him and very gently, touches his forearm.

“He shouldn’t have said you were a bad father, you’re not.”

“I don’t need you to tell me that,” He bites out, still on the defense; his walls are up and trying to block her out.

Beth licks her lips, her hand moving to settle on his right shoulder. When he doesn’t push her away, she puts her other hand on his left and begins to rub them. It’s slow and deliberate, her thumbs working right above his collarbone so that he unwinds.

“You going to turn around for me or do I have to make you?” Her voice is slightly teasing, just enough warmth that he doesn’t lash out again.

Rio holds her gaze before drawing his lower lip in-between his teeth. His arms then fall to his sides and he does turn so she can really work the back of his shoulders. He moves to stand in front of his mug of tea, adding honey as she massages him. She rolls her thumbs into his tense muscles, feeling them unknot underneath her and she does this for a few moments before very purposely pressing herself against his back.

She kisses along the back of his shoulders, along his spine, stepping up on her toes to kiss his neck as her arms wind around his waist. Rio lets out a sharp breath, her hands dipping lower until she’s cupping him through his boxer briefs—

And that’s all it takes for his attitude to shift and suddenly they’re right back where they started.

Rio turns and clasps the side of her neck, leaning down for a kiss that’s too heated, a little bruising. He rolls his hips against her own and it’s a little haphazard because of their height difference but she moans as she feels his hardening cock against her. Her hands slide down his back and into his briefs, grabbing at his ass as he tugs her long tank top up, fingers nearly ripping the lace underwear in his insistence to get them off.

She gasps against his lips, his tongue sliding in, pulling his boxer briefs down just slightly until his cock is free. Beth reaches for him and he’s spinning them around to press her against the counter and they’re definitely knocking breakfast stuff off the island table but neither of them seem to care as they move again.

Rio pins her against the fridge, something he can use to balance her weight as he picks her up into his arms. She cups his cheek, panting, just long enough to run her thumb over his lower lip before he’s kissing her again and sliding his cock inside her.

She arches her leg a little higher around his waist, a strangled noise leaving her lips as her head tilts back. Rio can’t leave her throat alone, presses long wet kisses there when given the chance and thrusts up into her, knocking things about in the fridge.

It’s too hot and too rough and it makes an unsated heat boil inside her far too quickly; before she knows it she’s cumming, her mouth finding Rio’s shoulder to quiet some of her moans. He’s not far behind her, holding her up against the fridge for a few minutes after the fact, just soaking one another in as their breathing comes down.

Her heartbeat is still in her ears as he sets her down on the ground, glancing over his shoulder at her red lace underwear that are forgotten about on the floor.

Rio presses a kiss to her jawline, “Don’t put those back on.” His voice is ragged and sated and Beth bites her tongue on saying something ridiculous about how the sex was almost better because Dean walked in on them.

There’s something about Rio, unbridled frustration and roughness and passion that reminds her of why she was attracted to him in the first place. And while he can be soft, he melts around her, these moments are just as wonderful when he’s not as gentle. He doesn’t handle her like she’s going to break, like she’s made out of glass, something too fragile to touch. And that somehow means everything.

She nods her head at what he’s said, glancing around the floor at broken eggs, pieces of vegetables and the cutting board turned over near their feet. He follows her gaze, humming a little as he tugs down her tank top and fixes his boxer briefs.

“You know what they say; you gotta crack a few eggs to make an omelette.”

A sudden laugh sneaks up out of her throat, making him grin and curls hair around her ear. “I don’t think they meant it _that_ way.”

Rio helps her clean everything up before finally starting in on making their breakfast that’s turning into a brunch at this point, but at least she can say she’s worked up an appetite.

**Author's Note:**

> thank everyone so so much for the constant support. thanks for reading, leaving a comment, kudos or reblogging on tumblr. means a lot. you can always find me here: blainesebastian.tumblr.com/ask


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